Call of the Coffeemaker

coffeeFive high-pitched beeps, each just short of a second long, sounding in regular succession. This is preceded by a gurgling sound that I don’t always hear. That depends on where I am. The beeps, however, are just piercing enough that I will hear them.

Five electronic beeps that sing a melody-less song of hope. Signaling that the rich Colombian elixir is ready. That elixir which chases away the 4 am cobwebs and stirs the blood.

Five electronic beeps, “I am ready for you, master. Come, partake of me. Fill your cup and drink me in.”

A five note siren song, drawing me to the kitchen, a mug, steamy warmth nestled in my hands as I trod the dark hallway to the den, my desk, my work.

Oh, the song of the morning. Long before sunrise. Invigoration that prepares me for creation, for study, for contemplation.

I hum a song of gladness, of gratefulness, to The Maker, for the maker of coffee.

Let the day begin.


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